The Lad with the Golden Nipples
by babymene17
Summary: Enter Frankish, if you will, the lad with the golden nipples. A tale of passion, betrayal, anguish, devistation, and gender confusion is what awaits. Rated M for language. Please read and review!
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I do not own POTO

My story begins, I suppose, when the Vicomte de Chagny came to town, or rather, the opera. I was just minding my own business, hopping to and fro like total ninny, scowling as Madame Mommy Giry screeched at me for shimming my golden nipples in the wrong direction, when that dude comes swaggering in.

_His hair looks better than mine!_ I thought angrily to myself, watching with envy the hair that swayed side to side as if it had a life of its own. Or perhaps he did that on propose.

"Attention everyone," mister manager said, "I would like to confirm that the rumors about my retirement are true and here they are Messieurs…"

I didn't catch anymore of what the mister manager, that's what I called him as I never figured out what his name was. Whenever I saw him, I would say to him, "mister manager, mister, what is your name?"

He would tell me but I just couldn't pay attention when he was speaking! You see, he smelled of cabbage and goats, and that got me thinking about how exactly one could smell of cabbage and goats when the person in question lived in Paris and not to mention, spent all of his time as manager at the opera. Did he really live in the country and couldn't help it? Did he come to work on a goat, eating cabbage as a healthy snack? Was this a new line of exclusive, la-de-da cologne, worn only by the rich and famous and the managers of the opera?

In any case, after about the 20th time, me asking the question, him telling me, my senses being overpowered by the stench of cabbages and goats, he refused to even speak to me, huffing loudly and scampering, yes I said scampering, in the opposite direction.

Oh well, I don't really care that much, mister manager.

FINE!

So, wait…where was I? Oh yeah, the new managers. I wasn't paying attention as mister manager announced the new messieurs managers' names, so I guess I'll call them that from now on.

After that, the hair man was introduced as our new patron. I paid attention to who he was, oh yes, because I had to know who had better hair than me! He was the Vicomte de Chagny as I mentioned previously. My glittery, makeup covered eyes narrowed into slits, glaring at him as he said, "Oh yeah, I'm like so totally happy to be the new patron," and then Carlotta was a meh meh and Piangi coughed, offended, and was meh meh and then turned around and winked at me! Piangi winked at me!

This is why I hate being in the ballet! Men, for some odd reason, believe I am a girl and wink at me! I am not one of those dumb, gold digging ballet rats, I am a male dancer! With gold nipples!

I remember looking down at my nipples and admiring them as Carbitcha, oh I'm sorry, Carlotta said something like, "'he lahve me. Lahve me, lahve me, lahve me,"' HA! Please, Carlotta is NOT Italian or whatever foolishness she claims to be. She is from West Virginia! Her father was a shoemaker and her mother was David Hasslehoff. Yes, you heard me correctly.

Anyway, I digress from the subject. The ballet rats, the other male dancers that also wink at me, and I were taking a short impromptu break as the new messieurs managers and the sumbitch Vicomte were introduced, leaving us to chatter or giggle or walk around aimlessly in circles. Instead of these marvelous pastimes, I was drawn in by the glimmer of my glorious nipples and stood in the middle of the stage admiring them.

_I think I'll keep them_, I thought, slowly being hypnotized by the gleam shinning off them.

Suddenly, I was brought forcefully back to reality as hoe bag Victwa whacked me in the head with her slave chains.

"'FRANKISH!"' Madame Mommy Giry screamed, "PIANGI!"'

Since Frankish is my name and I was kind of in the middle of the ballet rats "sultry" dance, I ran as fast as my beautifully chiseled legs could carry me over to Piangi, who I was supposed to help climb the elephant since he is a fat ass.

The drunks, who oddly enough, no one knew exactly who they were or why they always hung around backstage, were currently sitting in the back of the elephant, living up to their namesakes. I reached Piangi and the cheap ass elephant just in time, thanks to my beautifully chiseled and bent down to give him a leg up. Unfortunately, Madame Mommy Giry staged it so I bent to the back of the elephant, my hinny in full view of the drunks, so as I did what I was supposed to, the drunks pinched my previously mentioned hinny!

Well, like any lad who has had his ass pinched by another fellow, I was a little freaked out! Without remembering that I was still barely supporting Piangi's lard, I jerked up, my hands splayed in front of me, sending Piangi to loose his grip on the elephant and tumble down. He was ok, because he landed on me!

I screamed loudly, quite like a moose, and gave a muffled yell at Piangi to, "'Kindly remove your extremely large person from my head, as I didn't exactly have another one and the loss of this fabulous beauty would be a devastating blow to the world."'

Piangi, after a moment or so, using the word "moment" extremely lightly of course, was pulled to his feet by that midget of his, weird little wee person, I still don't know how he managed to pull him up and why if he could pull him up, wasn't the one to give him a leg up on the stupid elephant.

I stood up very slowly, not daring to think about how messed up my hair must have been when I happened to glance over to Piangi who was standing uncomfortably close to me, when he wiggled his eyebrows suggestively at me! And the little man too!

_Oh, woe is me! _I thought dramatically, wondering why on earth I had to be stuck with this job when I wasn't even the strongest. Then I saw it. Madame Mommy Giry and Piangi exchanging very knowing looks in my direction!

_Son of a bitch. _I thought angrily to myself as Madame Mommy Giry smirked at me.

I knew she hated me!

My angst ridden dwelling was shattered as Carlotta was seemingly smushed into a pancake by a conveniently placed piece of scenery hanging above her head.

_This was turning out to be a great day! _I thought gleefully, _I get pancakes! Yummy!_

I clapped my hands and bounced up and down happily, unbeknownst to the morons around me, all twittering fearfully. I suppose they were afraid that there wouldn't be enough Carbitcha pancake to go around.

But before I could even begin to plan the quickest route to my secret stash of Aunt Jemima syrup, which was hidden among Buquet's bottles of Rum, my hopes and dreams were brutally stabbed repeatedly, poisoned, and forced to do the electric slide as Carlotta was not smushed into my much desired pancake, but was screaming. Very loudly.

"'Meh meh meh meh meh!"' she yelled in her wannabe Italian accent. Of course I didn't pay attention to her as I have the attention span of a feisty squirrel and Piangi was still eyeing me beadily.

I did catch the words, "'I'm really leaving!'" and she left, with her little dogs too, mean ol' Mister Manager announcing he was going to Australia or some foolishness like that, no doubt they have goats and cabbage a plenty, and Piangi, finally leaving my side to go up to the messieurs managers and go, "'Amateurs!"' complete with prissy finger snaps, head shaking, and hip swaying as he stalked away, the little man mimicking his every move. Shivers…

Madame Mommy Giry came forward at that moment to deliver a message from the Opera Ghost, which made me even huffier as he hasn't sent me a note in two weeks! Erik, what happened to my Angel of Interpretive Dance?

Looks of extreme distraught ness marred my gorgeously sculpted face as some goody two shoes named Christine Daae was asked to sing Carlotta's aria.

One look at her told me that she would do horribly so I decided to skip the rest of rehearsal, opting instead to get to the sleazy dormitories before the rest of the ballets rats did so I would have a few precious moments alone before they galloped in like antelopes, drinking Buquet's liquor again and invited him in for "story time" until Madame Mommy Giry broke it up.

As I was nearing the dormitories, one of the drunks stepped out of a darkened door way and offered me a drink which had a tablet slowly dissolving in it. As much as I love to accept drinks with suspicious pills floating in them from strange men, I just had to refuse.

I _had _to get my nipples their shiniest.

Please review! Love and Peace! Kupo!


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: I do not own POTO, but I own the idea of the gloriously glorious Frankish. Hot stuff!

Dammit! I was wrong! That stupid little poodle, Christine Daae can sing! I have my suspicions, let me tell you, I did see pictures of her everywhere in the "love cave" last time Erik and I had a "love fest" and…I know about the mannequin with the wedding

dress and the perfectly shaped holes in shady places. And by shady, I don't just mean where the sun don't shine!

I asked Erik about this, as he was lying gracefully on my swan bed, shirt and pants removed in a pile on the floor, having been hurriedly cast away in a moment of passion. After I pried my curious eyes from his luscious body, his large "package" covered teasingly by the velvet blankets, I submissively asked my question, his seductive blue eyes boring into mine.

'"Erik, can we go to your coffin again?"'

Ok, so maybe I got a little side tracked, (who wouldn't!), and didn't ask him. Bid deal! I know what that mannequin is for! And yes, I'm jealous! A mannequin of me would look _so_ much better in that dress!

I digress, however, from the situation at hand. The fact was that I did have to perform my dance on stage, and that Piangi and his little fellow groped me, and that Mommy Madame Giry punched me in the ribs when I declined Piangi's invitation to go to his dressing room cough BROTHEL cough after the show. I did not want to become another of his living trophies, the only perks being a ten dollar gift certificate at Victoria's Secret. Why would I want to join the other ballet rats when they are shopping for risqué undergarments that won't stay on for more that five minutes? I do have morals…

I was figuring my nipples lovingly as I was trying to evade Buquet, he was rather drunk and staring fixedly down the dresses of Nest Head and Barbie (Christine and Meg if you aren't sophisticated enough to understand my sense of humor) when my beautifully sculpted ears caught the sound of Erik and Mommy Madame Giry chatting in a corner.

'"So you'll watch the door?" Erik's deep voice asked silky.

'"Yes, just make sure you take a while locking the door, ok? And wear the black gloves."'

'"Ok. What about a cloak?"'

'"Oh yes, and you've practiced the swishy cloak removing routine haven't you?"'

"'Yes, what would I do without you, Suga Momma?"'

That was enough for me to hear, and the fact that Mommy Madame Giry started going into detailed descriptions of rather questionable rounds of leap frog told me it was time to leave.

My fuzzy little head was buzzing with the information that I had just discovered. Erik and Mommy Madame Giry are planning on kidnapping someone! And who is that someone? It must be me! I knew that Erik hadn't forgotten our games of Marco Polo in the lake…with no clothes…and that it usually only lasted one go…

I scurried to my dressing room, all the ballet rats weren't there yet as I had passed most of them snogging in the corridors with random men, and quickly changed into my night ensemble of silky red boxers with little white half masks on them, (Erik has a matching pair. They came in a set with loofahs!), deciding to ditch the customary harness, as my nipples were ever so golden and shiny.

Knowing that any second now, I would pretend not to hear the pathetic door to the dressing room lock and be some what surprised that all the candles in the room just happened to blow out at the same time, I sat on the edge of my bed which is conveniently placed across from Erik's portal, which is a strangely positioned linen closest, impatiently awaiting the arrival of my lover…

* * *

Five minutes later I found myself traveling down the rooster print carpeted path to Erik's "love cave". I just didn't want to wait anymore, so I pushed through the contents of the linen closet, but not before near death by a wad of used gum, damn that Victaw, and kicked the bunny picture covered wall down, allowing me to reach the rooster printed path. 

Why roosters? I have no idea. When asked about this, Erik just mumbled something about the insanity of farm animals. I didn't question further as he had begun to sing "Ol' MacDonald" in an extremely high voice with an out of tempo rendition of the chicken dance. Must be a subject he isn't keen on.

Any who! As my fascinating mind contemplated this question, my gorgeous Bod wandered into the clutches of Grubb, the rat catcher. Now rat catchers…can be very unclean and UN appealing to men of taste such as myself, but Grubb was different. He was STANKY! He smelled of bleach and parmesan cheese and anything other smell that could possibly be deemed nauseating. But that wasn't the worst part. He was in love with me.

"Frank ISH!" he called loudly with an extra emphasis on the ISH part which is why I wrote it like that, "why haven't you been returning my calls! Does your phone not work?"

"I suppose not deary," I said between gritted teeth as I thought with dread about the extremely long list of missed calls on my phone, all from him about 20 seconds apart from each other.

Then the unspeakable happened. In the extreme quiet of the catacombs, the only sound being the muffled drip drop of water falling on the rooster carpet from the ceiling echoed the fabulous "Bootylicious" ring tone from my cell phone, the one that was supposed to be broken. Grubb angrily pulled the tiny silver phone from my pocket, snapped his teeth at it a few times, and silenced the beeping melody by tossing it into the lake.

"Hey!" I screamed, crossing my arms and tapping my foot furiously, "that might have been my stylist!"

But before I could even jerk my head from side to side and snap my fingers, Grubb came towards me menacingly, stanky as ever, and I remember no more.

**HEYA! Here's a shameless plug for my other story To the darker side she goes, which will also have a shameless plug for this story! Please review! Love and Peace! Kupo!**


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: I do not own POTO, just Frankish.

I awoke some time later, spread eagled across the farm animal carpet and very cold with a rather annoying breeze right beside my ear. What had suddenly woken me up?

"AHH! GRUBB! STOP IT!" I screamed, scrambling up, after I realized that the breeze was really Grubb, who had been sniffing me or maybe something worst…

I jumped up with the agility of a cat, looming over the Indian style seated Grubb, putting my hands on my hips once more.

"Just you wait until Erik hears about this, you crazy ass fiend!" I proclaimed in a sassy manner as Grubb merely stared blankly at me.

"Why would Erik care when he told me to keep you away from the beautifully furnished in the middle of no where lair?"

It was my turn to stare blankly at Grubb, but as staring at Grubb for too long makes you gage, I dramatically turned my head to the direction of the love cave, wondering if what he said was true.

"But he told Madame Mommy Giry that he was going to kidnap me…" I protested angrily, stamping my foot in the process, and then screaming "OWW!" as wasn't wearing shoes.

Grubb merely chuckled his creepy but in no way sexy laugh and looked up at me once more.

"It wasn't you he was going to kidnap, it's that Christine Daae," he replied mockingly.

My temper got the better of me at that point, so to make myself feel somewhat better, I began to seduce Grubb, led him beside the lake and kicked his stanky ass in, the stench of failure emanating from Grubb dispersing my furious anger.

I laughed as he drowned.

* * *

Later that night after I had sprinkled cucumber melon bath salts over Grubb's floating body, to make the job easier for the unfortunate souls who would eventually discover his water-logged corpse, I found myself stomping in a very elephantine manner to that Christine's dressing room, (which oddly enough looks exactly like Carlotta's but much smaller). I reached the end of the hall and made my way forward to have a bitch fest with her, when I noticed Meg Giry, or Barbie if you think that fits her better, "sneaking" into the dressing room.

I say "sneaking" because the girl was failing miserably! Come on, who wears a white fruffy tutu thing and repeatedly hisses "CHRISTINE!" over and over again and expects not to be noticed!

Anyway, I watched her as she unlocked the door and snuck in, which is weird when you wonder where she got the key from. It didn't seem to be Madame Mommy Giry because about five minutes later the previously mentioned Mommy goes into the room and returns with Barbie who is mumbling something along the lines of, "But I don't want to listen to Daddy Buquet's stories and I don't want to sit on his knee again!" while being yanked on the ear. So that rules out Mommy…

Was it the managers that gave her the key? Why would they give a dim-witted ballet rat the keys? Did she practice her "sick moves" in front of them?

Or Buquet? That is probably less of an explanation as no one in their right mind would give him the keys to the ladies' dressing rooms, or any dressing rooms for that matter. Not unless the management wants to be harassed by the health department because of the discovery of a whole slew o' little Buquets running around; greasier and drunker than the original.

Wow…that thought just made my soul barf.

As it was obvious that Christine wasn't there at the moment and I sure as hell did not want to participate in whatever sinful acts were to take place in the ballet dorms tonight, (it was whiskey Wednesday…) I decided to just borrow her dressing room as it's not even fair or makes any sense that she has one because she is only a ballet rat! I snuck in, threw all of that Christine's frilly clothes off of the sexy, leather divan, and settled myself in a position that would make me look like a desirable angel even if I started drooling and fell asleep…

* * *

I awoke the next morning to the sound of grunts and moans. My radiant eyes snapped open in shock as I realized the sounds were coming from the direction of the partially opened mirror door. As I did not want to be a witness to whatever unavoidable "coupling" was bound to take place on the divan that I happened to be lying on, and I seriously doubted that the individuals responsible for the previously mentioned sounds would allow me to partake in whatever they were about to do, I jumped up quickly, after thinking all of this out of course, and sprinted behind the Christine's dressing screen.

Before I could carry out my ingenious plan, however, I tripped over the fruffy dresses that I had tossed to the floor last night, successfully getting caught in the massive massiveness which was Elisa's white aria costume. As I was trying to free myself from its unforgiving grasp, the mirror door slid open forcing me to hide in the ridiculously poufy skirts.

I held my breath as the sound of feet entered the room, stomping around a bit before seating itself on the divan which I had so cleverly evaded moments before. Expecting to hear more of what took place outside the mirror door, my ears were disappointed to hear only the sound of silence…permeating silence…

Unable to suppress my curiosity, I dared a peak from beneath my covert hiding place, feeling extremely sneaky and a slight bit stalkerish. This time it was my bright eyes that were disappointed as the only sight that greeted me was not the ever satisfying act of love making, but Christine. Just Christine with a huge box of what was labeled "Torture Chamber" beside her. Even more disappointing was the fact that she wasn't doing something interesting like solving a rubics cube or ruffling through the box or sniffing dry erase markers, which would explain a lot…no. She was simply sitting there, staring at the wall before her, with the most vacant expression one could possibly imagine on her dull, uninspiring face, her mouth opened wide enough for one to stick one of those huge Otis Spunkmeyer's muffins in without even a "muhhh!"

After about an hour of her simply staring at that wall, and yes I did look over at it and there was not thing of much interest except a painting of a menacing looking Carbitcha holding a chopped off head on a silver platter, I was beginning to wonder if the girl was even still alive! I couldn't hear her breathing and she hadn't blinked in over 42.87 minutes, so says my trusty Rugrats watch from Burger King.

Just as I was ready to jump out from my silky prison to see if I could even get a reaction from her as I touched up my nipples using her products, the door loudly creaked open, Meg looking positively shifty at its entrance.

"Christine!" she "whispered" yet again, causing me to sigh loudly and obviously on purpose.

Neither ballet rat noticed, however, as they both were aglow with determination to remain oblivious to anything and everything which didn't have to do with chocolates, gossip, and booze. Oh and boys, of course.

"Christine!" Meg asked even though Christine was clearly sitting right before her, though still unresponsive even as Blondie shook her shoulders violently.

"Christine!"

With a slight moan, Christine stood up slowly from the divan, stretching and trudging over to her vanity, her red eyes gleaming.

"I'm sorry Meg," she said, shuffling through the vanity drawers, "I zoned out again."

"Christine," Meg said, as she started almost everything she said with "Christine", "I thought your medication stopped you from doing that!"

Bed head shrugged as she put drops of saline in her eyes.

"I spaced before I remembered to take it."

"Ohhhh, ok," Meg nodded, "So, Christine, where were you last night?"

Where I had previously been trying to block out this extremely lack luster conversation, my formerly disappointed ears perked as they reached a topic that I actually wanted to listen to.

Christine did not immediately her still shifty looking friend, but cast a dreamy expression towards the box on the divan before looking at her reflection in the mirror. Which wasn't _nearly_ as attractive as mine!

"Well…" she began, interrupting my pleasant day dreaming, "do you remember what I told you last night about my Angel of Music?"

"You mean Monsieur Reyer?"

"No! He only makes me call him that when I…well never mind! The _other_ Angel of Music. You know, here in this room he calls me softly? Somewhere inside, hiding?"

"Oh yeah!" Meg said slapping her hand to her forehead, "The one that makes your hands cold and face white?"

"Well…sort of. I'm always rather white, my dad always said that I don't get a tan, I get a pale. And it's always cold in this stupid opera house. Damn cheapskate managers! Anyway, you get the point."

Meg simply nodded as I began hitting my on the floor. Maybe if I killed myself, they would bury me in the dress!

"Ok, well, last night after Raoul asked me out and I said "no way!" and he ran out crying as I told him to save the drama for his Momma, who is also dead, the _other_ Angel of Music came to me! Don't look at me like that Meg! It's not spelled that way! Anyway, he led me down this pretty hallway-"

"Hey!" Meg interrupted, "I went down that hallway, but it sucked ass! There were rats and everything!"

"That's because Erik a.k.a. the _other _Angel of Music knew you were going to go down it in a curiously stupid attempt to find out where I was. He put the rats out to make fun of the fact that you are and will always be a meager ballet rat."

"Oh…" Meg replied, looking rather put out.

Christine smirked and continued her fascinating recount of the events from the previous evening.

"When we got to his lair, which is extremely magazine-esk for being in the fugly cellars, he sang to me as I had yet another "zoning out" episode. I remember a lot of hip wagging and hand gestures, but that's about it. I woke up in a beautiful bed shaped like some sort of water fowl, as a creepy little monkey box woke me up. I think it was an alarm or Erik purposely turned it on so I would wake up as I had probably been snoring and my face was stuck to the pillow because of all the drool…"

Meg pulled a face, but Christine ignored her.

'Goddammit, fuzzy! Hurry up! This material is really itchy!' I thought angrily, glaring daggers at her and scratching myself.

"And then…I can't remember anything else! Something about a face in the mask, and I was called "little viper", which I took offense to because I my teeth are not that sharp, whatever he may say. He did have hickies on his neck…but maybe it was just a rash…but even if it _was _me, I didn't hear him complaining at the time! Jesus Christ Superstar! Ok…where was I? Oh yes, and then I remember being outside that mirror door over yonder and Erik tossing me that large box, telling me that he needed me to "'be a good little girl and not tell anyone what was in the box, because he would get it all sorted out,"' and after much grunting and moaning because the box is rather heavy, I sat down and then you came."

"Ohhhh, ok," Meg said simply as the story finished.

Then there was silence…I could _hear_ both of their miniscule brains crash and burn as they tried to think of what to do next.

"Well, we've got practice, as we are performing an entirely new opera immediately after _Hannibal_ with no break period whatsoever. You coming?" Meg asked, heading towards the door.

"Nah, I think I'll forget to take my medication again and space out some more," Christine answered jovially.

"Alright! Have fun!"

"You bet!"

They waved goodbye to each other and Meg closed the door, leaving Christine to her…sitting.

Not caring if I was discovered which seemed pretty unlikely as Christine looked very far gone already, I untagled myself from the dress, brushing off the excess glitter and exiting the room.

Extremely pleased to have escaped that hot air chamber, (get it?), I raced back to the dormitories eager to have a place to settle my troubling thoughts.

'How could Erik take her down to the "love nest"!' I screamed to myself, kicking one of the sheep from _Il Muto_ in anger.

As the animal squealed, or made whatever noise sheep make when they are angry, and stampeded down the brightly lit hallway causing quite a ruckus, I tried to look at the good side of the situation.

"Well, at least he didn't dance for _her_," I whispered evilly to myself, earning several blank stares from the stage hands.

Sticking my tongue out at them, I completed the walk to the dormitories much more calmly than before. As I stepped over the still passed out ballet rats lying on the floor, clutching bottles of Jack Daniels to their bosoms as if their lives depended on it, I made my way to my bed to reminisce on the first time Erik brought me down to his lair.

It's so special that it deserves its own chapter!

**Wahoo! I finally finished this chapter! The muffin bit was a nod to Random-Battlecry's Who's Lair is it Anyway, which I have always found hilarious even though half of it doesn't make sense. Well, that's the beauty of phiction, isn't it? Please review! Love and Peace! Kupo!**


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